No marriage is perfect. I know that. That's why I understand why my marriage with President Blue is on the rocks right now. Ok. I am totally being ridiculously assuming right now. But I haven't talked to Blue since we part ways after that weekend soiree.

Last Sunday morning was the last romantic moment I had with him. I strolled around the marsh behind the pine forest, then I walked up to the middle of a wooden bridge that connects the two sections of the land divided by the marsh.

It was still pretty quiet, most were still asleep. The helpers who prepared our meals on Saturday were kind enough to prepare a cup of hot coffee for me, which I carried as I was walking around. I was wearing a little yellow dress with my gladiators on, and since it was breezy cold, I wore again Blue's navy blue sweater jacket, too oversized for my body, that he lent me the during the campfire the night before.

Awhile later, while I was enjoying my view, Blue came up behind me, hugging me tight and kissed me from my neck to my cheek, as if we've been doing it regularly. I wasn't startled tho, like I expected he'd do that, just popping up from behind me and be all cuddly and sweet.

We didn't talk much that morning; just cuddling, kissing, hugging, kissing again, then looking into each other's eyes like we knew we are the future.

But now that future is looming to become a past. I knew early on that the last week of August will be hectic for me. We only had two days of classes this final week because, today, Wednesday, is a national holiday. Then then next two days, we have special events at school; the High School Fellowship on Thursday, and the All Campus Convocation on Friday.

Christian living is part of the values of our university, but it is an optional event to attend. So it's pretty much a long weekend for the rest. I didn't really grew up in a religious household, but RJ and I are baptised as Christians and we keep it in our hearts. We've only attended this event twice or thrice in the past, we opted to spend this expected long weeked with us as family to go on trips.

I didn't see Blue last Monday and on Tuesday I saw him but he didn't see me. The previous two weeks, he was intentionally looking for me to be his charming princehood and make my heart melts.

But now nada! Men, guys, boys! Why are they the way they are? One day I am the perfect girl to ever exist, and now it's like I don't even exist! Worst, I feel like I'm a wedding cake that Blue poked his finger on, tasted, then take another poke, tasted, then some more, and he didn't take a slice! I think, we will never gonna have a wedding cake when the day comes, instead, we'll cut firewoods or a chicken head on our wedding day.

Ok, the chicken is gruesome.

Now, I stand at the counter to pay the strawberry yogurt milk I picked randomly at the fridge of this gasoline station's convenience store. Mom dropped me off in this large gasoline station along the south expressway an hour ago to wait for sir Alb - for Albert.

Apparently, Albert went to the pub last night, I didn't go on duty, but I heard about it from uncle Bob because he invited him to his birthday, and that's where we are going now. Mom insisted that I go with Albert on the way to the Pren & Elie Bed and Breakfast in Tagaytay so I can tell the directions. It's not like GPS doesn't exist in our Tagaytay home, but I didn't contradict when mom suggested, I kind of wanted to be with Albert as well. I check my phone, I recieve a message from him, it says he has arrived.

I walk out of the convenience store, turn left towards the gasoline station, step down a short stairs and walk the vast concrete grounds of the station. It's been raining since Monday but it stopped late this morning. I'm wearing my new favorite dark green cowgirl boots and a boho style, off-shoulder, one-piece dress with the skirt falling softly on layered levels. And since I'm attending a birthday, I added some boho accessories as well; I'm wearing a lip gloss too.

I don't know what I am going at with my outfit today, but I'm comfortable. Except with my hair tho, now that the strong wind is blowing it all over the place as I am walking. I hiss, I check inside my tussled boho style bag to look for a hair band and there isn't any. I give up - to hell with my hair!

I look up and search in the gasoline area, and low and behold, Albert is standing leaning on the side of his Chevrolet C30 One-Ton Dually. For a moment, the chevy steals my attention, I am in an indescribable awe. It's well taken care of despite being born in the 1970s. It's beautiful, magical even.

But then, its son is magnificently standing across me even younger than the last time I saw him this hot, now, he's like a modern sexy country boy. He's wearing leather stylish dress boots, dark-wash denims with matching light-wash denim shirt, and a trendy plaid jacket like he was clothed by a cool teenager. His hair is tousled - of course - but its curls are more distinct and sexier, and even more with his five o'clock shadow on his face.

Strangely, he looks at me, with probably the same awe I have of his Chevy. I feel uneasy, I wonder what is so awe-striking about me walking with my hair being blown everywhere. If I look good this way, I'd definitely choose this same style of outfit if I ever decide to attend the Yuletide Ball this December. So then I might have the same faces from everyone when I enter the grand entrance. Or maybe not, I'm not attending.

"Wow!" I exclaim. I meant the car.

He smirks, "Me or the car?" he asks, humor creeping up his face.

I think that was too forward of him. I pout and raise one of my brows, "You think too highly of yourself. That's a classic chevrolet pick-up truck! Ryan Gosling wouldn't come close to it," I jest.

"So I'm third to Ryan Gosling?"

I laugh silly, which he follows with short handsome notes of laughter. Damn, I melt. And I notice something about myself when I'm in Albert's presence, like I'm acting adult, not a teenager. I make facial expressions that I don't usually make, and the way I talk, I think I sound.. older.

"Ok. You're both second. So, are you ready? Ryan Gosling?"

"Just call me Albert," he grins. There is something cheeky about his grin, it makes my lower abdomen squeezes tight.

"Let's go. And please, you don't need to open the door for me," I say, and I meant it. This air between us is awkward enough, I don't need my door to be opened for me like I'm some lady.

He smiles archly "What's a good country boy if not a gentleman?" he quips.

I snort, "Country boy! That's what you are going for?"

I sweep him from head to toe, as if I haven't already.

He shrinks a little, "Do I look bad? I have this new wardrobe - clothes - and I don't know if it's terrible or it's terrible."

"You changed your wardrobe?"

He looks at me unsure, "Yea. Just for a change," he shrugs.

"Ok, well, let's go --- and.. it's not bad, not at all," I smirk at him silly.

When I'm in any car, I make sure I rule the music. Albert did some minor modern modifications to his old chevy; with it I can plug my iPod and set it to my playlist of country songs. I ask him that we roll down the windows, I prefer the wind than the aircondition, it might get stuffy too because of this thick, weird air between us. So, fresh air it is. Then now, we drive off to Pren & Ellie's Bed and Breakfast.

I think Tagaytay doesn't need much of an introduction. It is one of the country's most popular tourist destinations because of its scenery and cooler climate provided by its high altitude. The city of Tagaytay overlooks Taal Lake and provides views of Taal Volcano Island in the middle of the lake through various vantage points situated in the city.

The Taal Lake is a freshwater lake in the province of Batangas, on the island of Luzon, it is the country's third-largest lake, after Laguna de Bay and Lake Lanao. Within the lake lies the Taal Volcano, the world’s smallest active volcano. Viewed from the Tagaytay ridges, Taal Volcano and Lake presents one of the most picturesque and attractive views in the Philippines. And in Tagaytay is where the Jocson clan lives.

Mother Mercy was born and raised in Tagaytay. Her family owns nine hectares of Bee Farm in the leveled lands of the city. Jocson Honey Bee is quite a famous brand of bottled honey that they export around Asia.

They are also known for the Jocson Gourmet Farms, they are one of the known organic farms in Tagaytay extending their land to six more hectares filled with different kinds of herbs, as well as a wide variety of local vegetables and various kinds of lettuces.

When grandma Ellie died, they converted the original house into a bed and breakfast (B&B). Despite their good wealth, they are a family that lives on simple possessions, very down to earth.

My mom is one of thirteen siblings: the eldest is uncle Rod, he's pretty much the head of the family now, acts like it, and he oversees the Bee Farm business; then auntie Divine, a soft spoken plump woman who takes care of the B&B; Auntie Bless now has all the white hair managing the export business; then there's uncle Jay, the family's robust-looking lawyer; next is skinny uncle Ray who always has something to complain, he manages the organic farm; then auntie Angel who doesn't look like her name, she's the strictest and she's a gradeschool principal; Auntie Charity is my favorite because she always hugs me, actually she hugs everyone even those she's in a quarrel with, she also looks after the organic farm; then uncle Ben, the veterinarian whom I'll never bring Steve Jobs to, he always looks dirty like he hasn't showered; next of course is uncle Bob, I'm his favorite niece and he's also the loudest in the family; mom is only a year younger than uncle Bob; then it's uncle Pat, the pig-face comedian as RJ would describe him, not in a derogatory sense because RJ loves pigs and he's closest to uncle Pat who is an FM radio DJ; then last are the identical twins, uncle Sam and uncle Max, one is an Architect and the other is a band singer.

In the strangest of coincidences, all their birthdays fall on each month in the calendar. So when the twins were born and completed the calendar cycle, grandpa Pren and grandma Ellie started a family tradition in which all their birthdays will be celebrated on the same date every month, it's their wedding anniversary date. And every birthday celebrations, they must be all together, and today is one of those days.

"Come on, ask me something else, something real. Anything! You know, you might just get the answers for the Finals," Albert elatedly tease. We've been asking random questions about each other during the drive.

I grin wide at the unthinkable thing he said, "I'd probably see Mr. Severus wear black before I ever get exam answers from you!" I exclaim.

He cackles, "Ha! Am I that impossible? You know, that man, true enough, since our first day at the university, I never see him in anything black. I see him once in pink, but never in black. And I know.. some students think - or maybe a lot - that Severus is the black sheep in the faculty. But that man is soft! You'd be surprised with the things he's done when we were in college," he shares, his voice is ecstatic but he has a sense of being so relaxed, I see it from his face, like when I look at dad when he drives.

"So, who is Albert when he was in college -- or, what are you like when you were in high school?" I ask animatedly intrigue.

I open the dashboard storage box and I see a matte black cap. Yes! Finally! My hair is flying everywhere. I glance at him to ask if I can borrow and wear the cap and he nods.

"High School, huh. I wasn't a nerd, I don't think so. I don't have a life, but it wasn't bad. I'm the Blue Tarub of my batch, you know, the.. perfectionist president," he says, then turns his head to me.

I don't understand it but he has that same look again from earlier when I was walking at the gasoline station. So now, a black cap should be in my outfit checklist for the Yuletide Ball.

I fidget when he mentioned Blue but then I ignore, "So you're famous? Or you're a heartthrob?" I ask sardonically.

"Both! --- no, neither. I don't think we have those kind of imagery when I was in high school. We were just kids! Not like now, you all pretend to be adults. Back then, life was simple."

I grin condescendingly, "Yea! Back then. That was ages ago right? Did you meet Dr. Jose Rizal?" I tease.

"Hey! - I'm not that old! Am I old?" he asks, looking at me like he is daring me about something.

I try to hide my grin, I think he look hot and adorable. But I'm not answering, "So.. what was it like when you were in high school? Tell me more. Did you have plenty of girlfriends? You use telephones right? Or what was that -- a pager?" I tease even more.

I see him rolls his eyes and let out a taunted smirk. But hee retracts and ready to answer, "I was, uhm, NGSB? No girlfriend since birth? Until I met Dianne of course, and that was when I graduated from my 7 years of college. I didn't have time for girlfriends. But we do have a telephone and I had a beeper."

I smile wide and laugh under my nose. Then I scrunch up my face, "NGSB? -- hmm, can't talk to girls?"

I turn my head to him, his hair is being blown everywhere too. I want to touch it. What the hell?

"No, I said, I don't have time. I was too focused trying to please my parents."

"How was it living with such esteemed parents? I mean, having National Artists at home," I ask loosely.

He pause. He looks at me and smile, then back his attention to the road, "My father is an insufferable perfectionist. He'd think I'm being a slouch if he don't see me reading a book or doing advance homeworks. Advance homeworks? How do you get that? My older brother, Pablo, would fake an assignment just to appear he has a lot on his plate and he's working on it. For dad, if we are not studying then how are we going to be top of the class? And that's what he expects of us, because he provides everything, needs, wants, and the extras. I never had a conversation with him like we are just father and son, it was always about school, business and keeping the prestige of the family name. And if he's not impressed at us about school, he'd lecture us on how to do it better. He's tag team with my mother," he replies so casually, but I hear a hint of scorn.

He looks relaxed but his expression deepens. I'm intrigued even more, "But aren't you all accomplished? Top of the class? Now, you are highly regarded," I ask.

He let out a disagreeing grin and snigger, "At the expense of losing a huge chunk of our lives trying to please them. Worst, my eldest brother, Fernando, dad's junior, didn't even want to be a lawyer, or my older sister, Elizarose, to be a surgeon. At the end of our father's life, we were still never enough. He defines us by our mistakes. I never get that, what kind of a father mindset did he have? I'm a father now, and I am never going to put such pressure on my children."

"But you pursued your passion. How did you? Were they ok that you became a teacher?"

He sniggers, "That was the mistake that defined me the rest of my life, at least the rest of dad's life. My parents intended me to be the Architect amongst their children. One's a lawyer, then a surgeon, Pablo is an Art Professor in Columbia University because our mother wanted him to be. Only our three younger siblings had more freedom to pursue what they prefer from the choices they were given. The rest of us were set, I'm supposed to become the Architect. My father didn't attend my graduation in Architecture. And has given me the cold shoulders ever since, especially because I got married right away, I became his worst dissapointment."

I didn't expect this to be Albert's life. I can feel it is worst that what he is letting on right now. I want to hug him. "My dad used to say, you are the life you live. And I think you are brave to choose the life you want, because I think, now, you've turned yourself into this.. great person. You're admired at school, not only for the genius, but for your passion. Heck, you're my favorite teacher," I regret my last remark. I take a glimpse of him and I see a wide grin creeping up the side of his face and his dimples come out so.. delectable.

"I am your favorite teacher?" he asks, delighted under his breath.

We both turn our head towards each other. We look into each other's eyes, I see my dad again, but the smile in his face makes my heart flutters. This is totally weird. I can't figure it out. Even weirder that I have this different confidence in me, like I can handle him. I don't know.

"Sorry, but can I touch your hair?" I say before I could think. Shit!

But there's something magnetic about his hair and the curls on its edges, and it's been bugging me ever since that first night at the pub.

He looks at me again, astonished. "Sure,' he agrees with a note of amused humor at the end.

This is insane. What am I doing? But fine, let's get this over with. I lift my hand and fondle on the curls of his hair and I accidentally touch the tip of his ear, his head twitches a little. I carefully look at his face, he is focused on the road but with an invisible smile in his expression. Then I touch more of his hair and stroke it, caress it, feel it. I don't know what I'm doing, but I love it. It's so soft, I straighten some of the curls and it immediately curl up again.

A strong wind blows inside the car and I smell the hair I am touching, it smells of shea butter, like the lotion I use. Suddenly, I can't get enough of it. I look at his face again, he is now visibly smiling. I smile too. But I have no idea what all this means. I decide to rest my arm on the backrest of our single-detached seats, and I continue to fondle on his hair like this is a normal thing. He's not complaining anyway.

We now turn to the toll exit to Tagaytay. While I continue to play on the gratifying softness of his hair, I feel something else about the car. I ignore for awhile, and we continue on the narrow highway that will lead us to our destination. Few kilometers and three stoplights later, I can't ignore it anymore, I think there is something wrong with our ride.

"I think we're flat. Or we're about to," I comment. I feel the difference from when we left the gasoline station to now.

Albert turns his head at me. He ponder, "You think? Yea. I think, you're right," he realises.

We are now in this area famous for its outlet stores of branded clothings and apparels. There's hardly any cars around, no traffic, so Albert slows down and parks on the side of the road.

Albert comes out of the car, looks at the back tires first, it looks fine, then he checks the front, and I knew, it's his side in front that is flat. He scratches the side of his forehead, like we are in deep, deep trouble. I come out of the car too and walk towards him.

"That is sad. Tsk.Tsk. This beautiful chevy is flat right now. Sad," I mock.

He turns his head at me, his brows are up, his mouth partly opens, his tongue is pressed under his upper teeth like he's some cool teenage guy saying I'm being silly. "Sad, huh? -- Tsk! I should have had it checked at the gasoline station earlier. I had that in my head! Tsk! Tsk!" then he hisses.

I raise my brow, I breathe in a halt, "Is that tire pumped?" I jerk my head directed at the back of the pick up. There's a spare tire in it.

He lifts both his eye brows. "Yes," then he looks suddenly uncomfortable. "But uhm.. eh.. That.. I don't know how to change tires."

I knew it!

"A zuma cum genius doesn't know how to change tires? You're an engineer," I sneer.

He isn't offended. He smirks with sarcasm, "Yea. I know. I should have written my thesis about changing tires. But then again, tires are not in computer subjects, or is it? I might have skipped that."

I roll my eyes at him. He's being cute now. I breathe out heavy under my nose. "Ok. Fine. Do you have a rubber band?" I ask, certain.

He scrunches up his face. "A rubber band? Its going to fix the flat tire?"

"Yes," I answer absolutely certain.

He thinks I'm being silly but he plays along anyway. He opens the door of the backseat, unzips a small pocket from his bag and pulls out something I didn't expect he'll have.

"Will this do?"

He shows me a pink hair band. He understands my quizzical expression, then he dulls his face, "I have two daughters. They always lose theirs, so I keep some of these in my bag. So, this ok?"

"Better," I take it.

Then I take the cap off that I am wearing and throws it into the car, then I pull my hair up into a pony tail using the the pink hair band. He lowers his head and realises that I am being silly, and we're doomed.

Without telling him anything, I go to the back of the pick-up and I grab the lug cross wrench and the car jack.

"I carry the small things, you carry the heavy spare tire," I command. I can see in his face how puzzled he is.

"Are you serious? You can change a tire?"

I kneel down, I raise up my off-shoulder top, and I start setting up the car jack, he's got an automatic car jack so it is easier for me. Then I use the lug wrench to loosen up the lug nuts, it's tight so I give it some brute strength.

I glance at Albert and he is looking at me like I am going to be his future wife, or at least I think that's what he is thinking because I reckon that is how I look when I gape at Blue at the cafeteria.

Then I use the jack to lift the car off the ground, I remove the lug nuts and I pull out the tire in which Albert decides to assist me with, then we put on the spare tire, I snug the lug nuts tight and voila, it's done. Easy.

I stand up. I wipe my hand on my dress, and I look at him. "Since we are at a stop now. I think I should check your hood before we drive off again. Just to be sure," I say. But truly, I'm just dying to see what's inside.

He shakes his head, baffled, "How?"

"I also part-time at an auto repair shop. And my dad owns several, you know. Just in the US tho," I shrug non-chalant.

I open the hood and damn, it's sweet. Some essential components have been replaced new, but still with it's original 5.7L V8 engine.

"I thought your dad was a rancher?"

"He was. And also a mechanical engineer," I turn my head up at him from under the hood. "I think he had a subject about tires," I tease.

"Wait. You work as a bartender and a mechanic?"

I shut the hood down, everything's fine. I look at him, he has this new look on me. It's familiar. I've seen it in my dad's face when I fixed a tractor by myself when I was nine. It was a dare we had before my ninth birthday.

"You know it's not such a big deal right? I'm hardly the only girl who knows how to mix a cocktail or use a wrench. What planet have you been living in?" I counter, trying to mutter down his over-the-top impression of me. First, the way he looked when I was just walking earlier at the gasoline station, and now this. Then off we go again.

One thing I discovered and like about the Philippines when we moved here is that, family is family, and filipinos mean it in every literal sense. Albert and I arrives at the Jocson family farms just in time for lunch.

Jocson birthdays are typically a whole day event. After the niceties with everyone and introductions with the non-family member guests, I sit at the far end of one of the long dining tables in the main family house.

I watch everybody, they're all noisy, so excited about each other as if they haven't done this just last month and will do again next month. These people doesn't always like each other, they argue, fight and scream at each other, and yet, once a month they would all come together because family is family.

Except mother Mercy, none of the Jocson siblings thought of moving in a far away city or work abroad because their parents wanted them to regularly see each other. When I was in Tennesseee, I hardly see my grandparents, or anyone else in that side of my family, if not for the rare invites, I wouldn't see them at all, and we all live in the same State! Uncle Forth would come and visit us from time to time but it was just mostly me, mom and dad, no one else.

I like this, I love this, what I have now. This noise, this chaotic noise of laughters and side banters, the familiar complaints about each other, and the warm love that surrounds the house. I have 27 cousins, I can't name all of them by heart but when I see them I know who they are. This is why I was able to settle down in this new country we call home, even though dad is gone, it's like my family multiplied to a hundred.

One activity RJ and I enjoys and always are excited about when we come here is harvesting raw honey. When we have guests for the first time, uncle Rod would give everyone a tour of the bee farm and show them how honey is being harvested, and if they want, they can do it themselves too.

RJ and I are experts now, auntie Divine once told me that mom was the former expert amongst all the Jocsons, it's like the bees doesn't bother her at all. She was rarely stung; uncle Pat even joked that mom was the original Queen B, not Beyonce.

"Albert, it's ok. Try!" I tease him.

Earlier, we've truthfully explained to everyone why I call him just Albert when he's my teacher. We met at the bar, I'm behind the bar, supposedly as assistant bartender, and he's the customer. It doesn't feel appropriate to continue our Teacher-Student act. I think everybody bought it. And Albert also made a humorous remark about feeling old when he's called sir, of course, the old people in the room understands what it feels like to be old and agreed.

"No, thanks. I'm fine here. I'll eat it raw when it's done," Albert backs off. He's with me and RJ in one of the beehives, the rest are with uncle Rod and uncle Ben.

"I have the smoker and you're wearing a jacket and a head cover. You're gonna be fine!"

I try to convince him to come near us and see the raw honey. I'm wearing a spare flannel long sleeves from uncle Rod to cover me and head cover as well, RJ is in his customised cute coveralls that uncle Bob gifted on his birthday last year.

"See. Those, those are flying bees. They sting!" Albert complains. I think he is being adorable again. I smile.

"If you assure them you're not gonna hurt them, they wont sting you. These bees are friendly," RJ comments, unconcerned.

I look at Albert again and he looks defeated, like he realised if a nine year old can handle it, how could he not?

He comes close, hesitant, then closer. I show him the hive frames and shared a bit how the bees produces honey in it and I teach him how to carefully scrape off the thick, raw saccharine-smell, honeycombs.

I think he is having fun now, he sucks some of the honey on his hand, then he eats a small broken chunk of the raw honeycomb.

"Are you scared of bees sir Albert?" out of nowhere, RJ randomly asks.

"I don't particularly like them. I got stung once, and it hurt like hell. But, now, I realised I don't actually have a phobia as I used to think. This is.. cool," he answers, still reluctant with the bees flying around.

He turns his gaze at me and our eyes bore into each other. I want to say something but I don't know the words exactly. I am certain tho that my heart is happy that he is here. We both smile.

"I know right! This is so cool! Look at them and their little butts," RJ zooms closer to the bees.

I randomly turn my head on one side and I see mom looking at our direction. Her expression is soft, like she is seeing something familiar. She smiles indirectly, then turns her attention back to uncle Ben who is having a hard time with his bees; the veterinarian can't handle bees very well.

The dinners are usually the main event. Since uncle Bob owns a pub, he has about at least a hundred friends and a lot of them has arrived tonight. It's uncle Bob's birthday that is always full-packed. Food, beers and alcohol are everywhere; there are so much people now.

RJ is going around, silently scrutinizing each of the guests; those he likes he would say hi and asks random questions; those that he finds snob, odd or creepy, he would politely but convincingly offer a special meat roll from auntie Angel's personal recipe and it is super spicy, then he would laugh; the Jocsons likes super spicy food especially uncle Ben.

I now sit in the veranda of the main house. There are tables and chairs on the large grassy backyard, but most of the people are standing, chatting and laughing, walking here and there, in and out of the house. Lanterns dramatically lights up the open area, beautifully matching the twinkiling start above.

And what's a filipino birthday celebration without a karaoke machine? Some of my cousins are already out there at the far end near a tree, singing their lungs out. Inside the house, they are playing grandma Ellie's favorite songs from her generation.

I see Albert with a group of men that uncle Bob introduced him to, uncle Rod and uncle Jay is with them too. Funny, while Albert belongs in that age group, he looks rather out of place. He looks way younger than them. I think he should be with uncle Pat, uncle Sam and uncle Max.

Throughout the night, Albert steals some glances and stares at me. I notice some of it, but some, my cousin Frieda, noticed. She's about my age and I'm closest with her, she has quite a forward personality. She asked earlier about the hot guy in plaid jacket, and then now, she asks why my teacher keeps looking at me.

"It's strange, huh, how he looks at you," she says, standing close beside me.

I shrug her off. "Maybe because I'm the only other familiar person here, with all these people, it can be overwhelming," I respond nonchalant.

She buys my alibi, I guess, and I think she's growing a crush on the hot guy in plaid jacket, she has a thing about teachers.

It's 10:50pm. The party is now for the adults, well, it started at 9-ish, about the same time that mom and RJ left too. We are staying for the night at the B&B, it's a few walks from the main house.

After few chats, hugs and cuddles with childless and still single auntie Charity, I decide to head back to the B&B too. As I walk to the slightly dimmed garden pathway from the main house, Albert follows.

"Hey," he whispers. I turn my head, I smell beer from his breath.

"Albert. Hmm, had enough for the night?" I ask casually. He's also staying at the B&B.

"Yea. They're opening whiskey. So, I said I'd pass," he whispers again like we are talking about some secret.

"Why are you whispering?" I whisper too. He realises.

He looks around. "It's dark at night. People are sleeping, and it's so quiet," he returns to his normal voice but still low.

I laugh at him wryly, then we continue our walk to the B&B. As we step on the porch of the house, I hear a noise, like a television is on. I walk to the side veranda and check the noise from the windows and I see mom and RJ cushioned in the couch of the small living room of the house. There are seven rooms on the groundfloor in which four were transformed into living rooms, but only this small, cozy one has a tv.

I see that they consistently watch dad's videos every night. I look at Albert who's expression is confused.

"What is it?" he asks, his voice low.

"If you are going to sleep you can go ahead. I think I'm staying here outside for awhile," I say.

From the windows, I have a full view of the television. I decide to sit on the wide surface of the veranda's wooden railings, I like it better when I have some sense of privacy when I watch dad's videos.

"What is it"" he asks again. Then he looks at the direction that I'm looking at, "Is that.. your mom and RJ?"

"Yea."

He pauses. "That's your dad?"

"Yea."

He walks closer to me. "Can I watch?"

I look at him and suddenly I have no intention of saying no, "Sure," I mumble.

He sits on the other side of the railings, we are at the corner of the veranda, there is a pillar post between the railings we are sitting. But still, we are close enough that our knees touches.

We watch, quietly. I can only hear the tv's noise and dad's voice is inaudible from our distance. But I know this video collection, it consists of mom's pregnant belly growing, she was carrying me.

In one clip, dad was drawing on mom's belly of a face that he promised will be as pretty as their coming daughter, the drawing was ugly and mom got mad, so dad kissed her all over her face. Another clip was when mom just got on her third trimester, dad surprised her with a bunch of balloons in different shades of green, he said he hates pink so their daughter will love green instead, mom rolled her eyes at dad's sillyness. Another clip was dad bringing in a new puppy, because their house dog has a lazy ass and their new labrador will be the extra protector for the baby. Dad named him Luluboy and he was Steve Jobs father; we brought both of them when we moved here but Luluboy died a year later. There is also a short clip in which dad entered the shower and tried to capture mom's pregnant silhouette from the shower curtain, mom angrily shooed him away but he wouldn't budge so she threw a bar soap at dad. And the longest part of the video is when mom and dad prepares the nursery room for me. There was a lot of greens and blues in it, some browns as well. It looked like I was pre-destined to be a future cowgirl.

In all these videos, dad was distinctly happy, it showed in his eyes, and not just because he's about to become a dad but also because mom was his wife and the love of his life.

"Your dad.." Albert breaks the silence, "He's a great guy. I think you're lucky to have had a father like him."

I glance at him and smile, then I turn my attention back to what I'm watching. I feel strange to be sharing this very private part of my life to him. While I feel fine sharing tid-bits about my dad, but this, this is too personal. I glance at him, and I see my father's eyes again.

"Your father, he looks a lot like RJ," Albert notices, then he looks at me intently. "And you have your father's eyes."

I smile. "So, I've been told. And if you see dad's photos when he was a kid, you'd think reincarnation is a real thing. Every lash, brow hairs, even the way their lips twitch, RJ is the exact replica. It's like, dad impregnated himself and birthed RJ, not mom." We both giggle.

"You have great admiration to your father no? I can see it from your eyes."

He looks at me with an imparting calmness, my heart relaxes. I smile. "I had a full nine years of my life with him. It was always exciting for me everyday. Like, those nine years was equivalent to, I don't know, 90 years of real time living? He taught me a lot of things that no other nine years old I've met have done or learned. He taught me how to change a tire." We both laugh at my end remark.

He brushes the sides of his hair with his finger. "From the looks of it, he loves you just as much. As a father too, I think he loves you even beyond the word love itself."

I'm hesitant, "I think your dad does too. He just had a.. different way of showing it."

He lowers his head, "Showing is one thing, making you feel it is another," he presses a smile, I sense sadness in it.

I don't know what is getting in to me, but I get a strange urge when he looks sad or sorry. I want to hug him. I want to kiss him. It's insane!

And then, like I am losing control of my body now, I step down of the railings and I come closer to Albert sitting on the railings. He looks at me wondering, and without thought or hesitation, I kiss him.

I don't know how long it's been, but the kiss is not ending. I feel no sign of it ending either. Both his hands are caressing the sides of my face, while one of mine is laying in his lap and the other is resting on his chest, which is not-so-surprisingly hard and firm. Our lips are moving in fluid motions matching our heads as well. Our tongues are not fighting for dominance but are giving equal passion. I taste the beer from him, but I also taste the masculine tang of his breath, it's exotic and arousingly erotic.

I can't get enough of him, I want to taste him even more. He pulls me closer to him, now I'm in between his thighs, I wrap my arms around his neck and I fondle, again, on his magnetic tousled, curly hair. I'm forgetting where we are at. Anyone can see us, but for some reason, I don't care because I am lost in the pleasure of his kisses.

But because we are just human, we need to breathe. Our lips finally unlock but our foreheads are leaning against each other's, he is leaning very low and I'm almost tip-toing. We breath heavy, then slowly I realise what just happened.

What just happened?

I pull out from him. I think he has the same realisation now too. His mouth is open, his expression, perplexed.

"Mecky, I'm sorry." He looks at me apologetic and wary.

But I realise something again. I kissed him. He steps down from the railings and stands close to me, towering over me.

"Hey," he whispers.

I can't find my words, I'm speechless. I narrow my eyes at him, I want to know what he is thinking. I don't sense any regrets. Do I regret it? -- No. I don't either.

"It's late," I mumble. I don't even hear myself.

"Mecky," he whisper again.

I look up at him and I don't know what is getting into me, again, I kiss him one more time - long, fluid and passionate. I feel the moon, the stars and the serenity of the night sky.

It's 2:55am now, I can't sleep. How could I after those kiss. I keep biting my lip now, I still feel his.

I open the Theology book with the riddle. I showed Cece the book on that night at the campfire. She figured it out, and it's not a riddle, it's the very definition of Morse Code. I've forgotten about it, which was intended too.

Cece and I were first to become friends during Freshman High. Because we both wanted to fit in, we forced ourselves to be extra friendly, and the way we did it was to be generous enough with exam or quiz answers.

We thought morse code to some of the dumb but so-called cool kids in our class, through it we we were able to give answers during exam. In sophomore year, we realised it was stupid to try to fit in so we ended the morse code era. There's a morse code hidden in the paragraphs of page 69, now, I think, I have a new riddle in my hand, a real one this time.

There are sets of morse codes under the words of every six paragraphs of page 69:

Paragraph 1:

- ... . ..-. .. ..-. - ... -. ..- -- -... . .-. .--. .-.. ..- ... - ... . - ... .. .-. -.. -. ..- -- -... . .-. . --.- ..- .- .-.. ... ..-. --- ..- .-. - . . -.

Paragraph 2:

- ... . ..-. --- ..- .-. - ... -. ..- -- -... . .-. .. ... --- -. . -- --- .-. . - ... .- -. - ... . ... . -.-. --- -. -.. -. ..- -- -... . .-.

Paragraph 3:

- ... . ..-. .. .-. ... - -. ..- -- -... . .-. .. ... --- -. . .-.. . ... ... - ... .- -. - .-- .. -.-. . - ... . ... . -.-. --- -. -.. -. ..- -- -... . .-.

Paragraph 4:

- ... . ... . -.-. --- -. -.. -. ..- -- -... . .-. .--. .-.. ..- ... - ... . - ... .. .-. -.. -. ..- -- -... . .-. . --.- ..- .- .-.. ... - . -.

Paragraph 5:

- ... . ... ..- -- --- ..-. .- .-.. .-.. ..-. .. ...- . -. ..- -- -... . .-. ... .. ... ...-- -----

Paragraph 6:

-- ... .- - .-- . .-. . - ... . ..-. .. ...- . -. ..- -- -... . .-. ... .- -. -.. .. -. .-- ... .- - --- .-. -.. . .-.